


The Arrangement

by HalfshellVenus



Series: Paradise [3]
Category: Prison Break
Genre: M/M, Male Slash, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-24
Updated: 2005-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-05 12:09:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4179330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfshellVenus/pseuds/HalfshellVenus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all starts when Michael needs some protection inside the pen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Protection

**Author's Note:**

> This series deals with a romantic, interdepent relationship between the brothers Michael Scofield and Lincoln Burrows. It covers the brothers' attempts to survive Fox River and reach freedom.

x-x-x-x-x 

Lincoln noticed Michael’s wary eyes as he passed him in the work yard. Michael was preoccupied, unaware of the need to keep moving and look busy.

He caught Michael’s eye, and jerked his head toward the shed. Michael wandered away, gathering some tools over to a new position, and then purposefully strode into the shed. Lincoln waited a few minutes, requested some additional supplies from the guard, and entered the shed himself.

Michael stood in the shadows, leaning his head against the wall. A moment of panic gripped Lincoln, as his rapid strides carried him over.

“What happened?” He gripped Michael’s elbow urgently. Michael exhaled loudly, and turned to face him.

“Nothing yet,” he said, not meeting Lincoln’s eyes. “I’m… getting pressured.”

“What kind of pressure?” Lincoln shot back.

“You KNOW what kind,” Michael said. “The kind any guy called Fish gets in a place like this!”

Lincoln groaned inwardly. He should have guessed this would happen. “Keep your cool,” he warned him. “Don’t attract attention. Stand tall, but don’t get into any stare-offs. Don’t be weak, but don’t threaten.”

“I know all the _‘don’ts’_ , Linc,” Michael said, because it wasn’t like he hadn’t been trying. “I mind my own business and try not be noticed, but it isn’t working out! I’ve got guys threatening me every time the guards’ backs are turned, and eyes glued to my ass everywhere I go!”

Lincoln wasn’t too surprised to hear that, but it alarmed him all the same. There was a lot that could go wrong for a guy in prison, especially if he was young and attractive, and with Michael over in GenPop there was little Lincoln could do to stop any of it from happening.

Michael’s jaw tightened in aggravation. “This whole situation is way beyond my control.” He looked at the ground, not really seeing it. “What it boils down to is, I may need a protector. Even for just these few weeks.”

“You can’t do that. You don’t want to get into that mess with some prison thug!” Lincoln said, exasperated.

“What I want and what I may have to do are different things, Linc!” Michael said. He was not getting any real answers here, and his patience was going fast. This was so completely typical. It was like a repeat of his whole damn childhood in fast-forward.

“I don’t need advice on this. Hell, what I really need is something more like a decoy!”

God, what the hell was Michael talking about? “What the fuck does that mean?” Lincoln asked.

“It _means_ ,” Michael said pointedly, “I could stand to choose whose prison bitch I want to be.”

“What choices do you think you have?” Lincoln asked, thinking that Michael really did not know the first thing about prison power dynamics.

“Well… looks to me like you don’t have anyone right now. I could be yours,” Michael suggested hopefully.

“What?” Lincoln’s brain came to a halt. “What?” he said again.

“No-one knows we’re brothers,” Michael said. “You’re big and beefy. The other prisoners think you’re scary…They’ll never really know, will they? Besides,” Michael leaned into him playfully, “You _are_ the best looking guy in this joint.” He nuzzled his nose along Lincoln’s neck.

Lincoln’s body went rigid at the lightning heat that swept through him at that touch. “Don’t… tempt me, Michael,” Lincoln said quietly.

Michael rubbed his hands slowly over Lincoln’s arms. “Tempt you how?” he teased.

“You know what I mean,” said Lincoln. “It’s been too damn long since anyone touched me like I was worth something, or even touched me at all.” Lincoln swallowed. “Too much time in a place like this, and your mind gets twisted. The unthinkable starts to seem possible…I can’t even explain it to you. All I’m saying is, I can only hold out so long.”

Michael smiled. “I could take care of that,” he said.

“Michael…,” Lincoln sighed.

Michael stopped, looking hurt. “You think I don’t love you enough for this,” he said.

“No.” Lincoln looked at the ground.” I know you do. That’s why I can’t ask.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering. There’s a difference,” Michael said softly.

“I can’t take advantage of you that way,” Lincoln said. “I love you enough to say no.”

An angry look crossed Michael’s face. “Yeah, well maybe I love you too much,” he said. “You ever think of that?”

Lincoln’s head snapped up. “What do you mean by too much?” he said. Sometimes it seemed that Michael overthought everything, and at times like this it really wore him down trying to follow along.

“I mean, maybe this isn’t exactly a sacrifice for me. Maybe I want you to hold me, and kiss me, and fill me up so I can finally stop chasing something I’ve been missing my whole life!” Michael said fiercely, eyes looking everywhere but at Lincoln.

“What? You-- Why didn’t you ever say anything about this before?” Lincoln asked.

Michael finally looked up, his frustration and embarrassment pushing the words out in a sudden rush. “What was I going to say? That I want you, and need you, and my life has been an empty, aching void for the last four years? There isn’t really a protocol for having that kind of conversation with your brother.”

Of all the unexpected things that had happened to Lincoln in his life, this one had to rank pretty damn high up there. Was Michael serious? How could he not have seen the slightest indication of this before? How long had it been going on?

He stared quietly into Michael’s reddened eyes. “What makes you so sure you really want this?” he asked.

Michael sighed defeatedly. “Kiss me and find out,” he said sadly.

Lincoln was suddenly tired of trying to figure out where all this came from, and why, and what he should do about it. This was the most unreal moment of his entire life, so whatever he did next probably wouldn’t really matter. He leaned forward and kissed Michael softly.

A sigh escaped Michael as he returned the kiss, hands sliding up over Lincoln’s arms to his neck, then his face, thumbs gently stroking over his jaw and cheeks. He sucked at Lincoln’s lower lip, rolling his tongue along it and releasing it.

Lincoln pulled back slowly and broke the kiss. “Whoa,” he said, half to himself. He let out a long breath. That had been really, really nice.

“What do you say?” Michael asked.

“Well... My body clearly says yes.” And it was true, though he never would have thought it possible. Lincoln glanced down. “And so does yours.” He smiled slightly, and thought for a moment longer. “The rest of me is trying to figure out if this is a good idea or not. Or-- hell, I KNOW it’s not a good idea. I mean, whether we should do it.”

“Are you worried about whether it’s a good idea for me? Or for you?” Michael asked. “Don’t worry about me. This is what I want.” His voice faded off a bit. “I’ve always wanted it.”

There was something in his tone that told Lincoln it was true. It was as if Michael had been lost forever, and given up on ever being found. That longing called out to him, and it awakened again that familiar need to save Michael, to make it all right, that had been part of him for as long as he could remember.

“All right, then,” Lincoln said gently. “This won’t be easy. We can’t expect to get very much time together. A few minutes like this—it’s practically a miracle.”

“I know,” Michael said, but in his eyes Lincoln could see that it would be everything to him. Michael kissed him again thoroughly, and wrapped his arms around Lincoln as though it would be the first and last time to ever really hold him.

Lincoln hugged him close. “I’ve got to get outside before Feenie notices I’ve been gone so long,” he whispered into Michael’s ear. He gave him one last kiss, and a fleeting look backward as he headed out the door.

Michael leaned against the wall for a moment longer. He knew this would be a temporary thing. Realistically, as soon as they got out—and they would get out—Lincoln would be chasing off after the first pretty girl he saw. But until then…

Until then, Michael would hang onto the only real thing he had ever wanted and never hoped to have. Just for now, in this twisted gray hellhole of metal and dirt and despair, he felt the slightest bit at peace.

 

_\----- fin -----_


	2. Stolen Moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where can stolen moments be found?

_x-x-x-x-x_

Some parts of their arrangement were easier than Lincoln would have thought.

During their next work duty, he found Michael already setting up in the hallway. Lincoln came up behind him and wrapped his arms around him for a few moments. The feeling of Michael relaxing against him, arms closing over Lincoln’s, was somehow comforting. The guard hadn’t noticed, but some of the other prisoners had. There were a few raised eyebrows, and a couple of envious stares. Word would definitely get around in GenPop. “Got your back,” Lincoln said softly. “Yes you do,” Michael replied, smiling.

That evening, Michael arrived at the chapel just after Lincoln, and as soon as the guard went out to the hallway, he moved forward and draped himself over Lincoln’s back. Their heads leaned together, and Michael breathed in the sensation of calmness that enveloped him. His hand reached up to Lincoln’s face, thumb slipping along his jaw, and then pausing to gently rub at his lower lip. Lincoln kissed the thumb softly, and his face turned toward Michael almost without thought. Michael kissed him gently and thoroughly, while the doubts in Lincoln’s mind disappeared like vapor. His objections, whatever they were, became weightless. 

He had just started to nibble at Michael’s lips when Michael pulled back suddenly. “Company,” he said. Sure enough, footsteps were becoming audible, and Michael sat back down as other inmates joined them. Lincoln drew in a deep breath, wondering what he was getting himself into. _Am I still nuts if I know this is insane? A normal person would not even be considering this,_ he thought. But to be adored—it was irresistible. Especially when it was someone that mattered to you so much. 

When—and how—Michael had come to need him and want him the way he did, Lincoln could not say. Their relationship had undergone a lot of changes over the years. Lincoln had reassured and comforted Michael as best he could in the year following their mother’s death. But after that, Michael had gained some determination and really a sort of _hardness_ that he put on for the outside world. He seemed to hang on Lincoln’s presence, yet they did not know what to say to each other. Less brothers and more partners in surviving their mother’s death, they depended upon each other to keep Child Services at bay.

And he’d spent too much time away from Michael during his teen years. He loved him, but had lost any real feeling of understanding him. Parts of Michael were a complete mystery to him, and perhaps always would be. 

The feeling of Michael’s hands on his shoulders brought him back to the now quiet chapel, where the guard was waiting for them to leave. He shook off his daze and caught the end of Michael’s amused smile. Lincoln followed him out the door, waiting for the escort back to The Row.

__

\----- fin ----


	3. Stealth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dabbling in possibilities.

__

x-x-x-x-x

Michael began to feel slightly less crowded in GenPop. It was as if there was a little extra room around him as he moved among the other men.

Out in the sunny yard the next morning, he worked his way over toward the restricted area used by The Row inmates. He didn’t have long to wait. Lincoln was released out for recreation about 10 minutes later, while Michael focused on maintaining an air of disinterest.

The guard returned inside, and Michael eased his way over toward Lincoln, detouring and wandering as he edged closer. A moment’s breath, and then they were kissing through the fence, half-hidden in the shadows. Michael’s fingers stroked Lincoln’s face where he could, and then he stepped back before the Yard C.O.s had time to notice. It was so quick and stealthy it was hard to be sure it had happened. “You good today?” Michael threw out, now six feet away and staring at some distant point not remotely connected to the forbidden fence. “ _Oh,_ yeah.” Lincoln said, and Michael turned at the sound of the smile in that voice.

They talked about nothing off and on, exchanging important details whenever the guard was out of earshot. The roundabout, fragmented way of communicating Michael’s plan took a fair amount of effort and concentration, always with the undercurrent of appearing nonchalant.

Painting duty came up that afternoon, in one of the closed wings. Working their way around a corner, out of sight, Lincoln suddenly backed Michael up against the wall and began kissing him hotly. Michael froze for a moment in surprise-- he had not expected Lincoln to make the first move toward this kind of intimacy, especially when he was still unsure how Lincoln felt about it. But Lincoln definitely seemed enthusiastic at the moment. Michael’s breath came in gasps, and the kissing escalated until he felt his heart would pop. His hands spilled over Lincoln’s back and around his ass, and the hardness pressed into his own began to move in rhythm to the tongue stroking into his mouth. Michael felt a moan building in his chest, and his legs began to weaken.

The sound of a bumped ladder broke them apart in shock, and they stared at each other for a moment, gasping, before moving back into work position, out of breath and struggling to focus on what they were supposed to be doing. 

A certain dizziness overtook Michael’s head, and his hands shook as he tried to draw the brush evenly down the wall. He snuck a glance at Lincoln, who looked much the same, and they shared a brief, giddy smile. Another inmate came around the corner, setting down his dropcloth and bucket. “Want to come over for dinner later?” Lincoln asked. “I’ve got room service.” Michael laughed at that. “I don’t think the doorman will let me in,” he said. “Yeah, it’s hard to get good help these days,” Lincoln said. “Burrows!” a voice bellowed. “You holding a tea party back there?” “Sorry,” Lincoln called back.

That night, in his bunk, Michael relived those moments against the wall, a corner of the pillow jammed in his mouth as he tried to stifle his release. The raw surge of emotion was as overwhelming as the climax, and he imagined himself surrounded by Lincoln’s scent as he lay shaking in the darkness.

_\----- fin -----_


	4. Attracting Attention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fulfillment and frustration.

x-x-x-x-x

Michael was in the cafeteria food line when he felt the hairs prickling on the back of his neck.

He turned his head, and there was T-Bag-- as always, standing much too close. Michael casually stepped back a little, and focused on a point off past T-Bag’s head.

“Rumor has it you been getting pretty friendly with The Sink,” T-Bag drawled.

“Where’d you hear that?” Michael asked.

“Why, it’s in the air, boy—you can’t hardly miss it,” T-Bag said. He leaned forward meaningfully. “But seeing as you’re new here and all, I’ll let you in on this: The Sink is a dangerous and desperate man. You ought to watch yourself with him.”

Michael bit down on his tongue hard to keep a laugh from escaping. The irony of T-Bag calling someone else dangerous was too much. He steadied his expression to nothingness, and shrugged. “I like him.”

“Whatever for?” T-Bag asked. “That man is madder than a bad-tempered rhinocerous.”

“He likes _me,_ ” Michael offered.

“Oh son, everybody in Fox River _likes_ you. Why, the courtin’ has barely begun,” T-Bag breathed. “All I’m saying is, there are much more profitable… _opportunities_ … for you right here.”

Michael could not tell whether that was meant to be a threat or a promise. Or both. But he smiled mildly, and said, “Well, if I come to want something different, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You do that,” said T-Bag, his eyes resting on Michael’s mouth. “I’ll be waitin’.” He did that kissing gesture with his lips that made Michael want to bolt, and sauntered off with his pack of followers. 

~*~

In the work shed, Michael waited around the corner for Lincoln to appear. He shifted nervously, too much hoping and wanting making him restless.

When Lincoln finally entered, Michael threw his arms around him and squeezed as if he could make them into one person by will alone. Lincoln laughed and patted his back. “I missed you too.”

They pulled back slightly, foreheads resting together as Michael looked down and smiled shyly. Lincoln could not stop from kissing him just then, at that glimpse of that sweetness that Michael kept hidden from the rest of the world.

Tenderly at first, then with increasing passion, the kissing continued. Michael’s mouth gave under Lincoln’s, as he tantalized him with lips and tongue, and the world seemed lost in a warm red haze.

Suddenly, Lincoln broke off, breathing hard, and kissed his way along Michael’s neck to his ear. He sucked at the spot just below the ear, occasionally nipping at the earlobe, and his hand slid down to Michael’s ass, cupping one side as his fingers stroked up between Michael’s legs. A sound was lost in Michael’s throat, as he spread his legs slightly to give Lincoln better access.

In a white-hot heat, Lincoln rapidly unfastened Michael’s pants and pushed him against the wall. Leaning there, Michael gulped in air as he felt Lincoln’s mouth upon him, and his hands caressed everything they could reach. It was explosive and soul-shattering, and Michael's eyes stung with emotion. He had thought he would be the first to offer this, but lack of experience had made him timid. 

He dropped down and held Lincoln’s face in his hands, kissing him with all the love that seemed to be pouring out of him. Then, pushing him down gently, he knelt and ran his hands over Lincoln’s chest, down around his stomach, rejoicing in the sensation of all that muscled strength under his fingertips. He kissed the skin above the waistband as he fumbled with the zipper and buttons, then worked his way down through the musky curls. Taking Lincoln in, he marveled at the feel of hot satin, so different from any other sensation he had ever experienced. He did his best to work in everything that he liked himself, and his hands roamed over Lincoln, feeling his groans coming up through his skin. It was incredibly arousing. “Michael!” Lincoln gasped. The release was sudden and strong, and Michel cleaned Lincoln up gently. Then he edged upward until he could blanket himself all over Lincoln, head on his chest and body boneless in bliss. 

“God, that was so amazing,” Lincoln said, as he stroked Michael’s back. He kissed Michael’s stubbled head, and relaxed into the feeling of Michael just melting into him.

“Burrows!” a voice yelled out. 

Both men were up off the floor and fastened up in lightning seconds, and Lincoln bolted out the door.

Michael’s eyes followed him, heart still beating too fast and his legs unsteady. He felt thrilled and cheated and frustrated all at the same time. What he would not give—who he would not be-- to lie down next to Lincoln and take the time for slow and heartfelt loving.

Would he have that chance? Would Lincoln still want that when they did? How many more days were left before they needed to break out of here?

_\----- fin -----_


	5. Lincoln's Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Too much thinking and waiting.

x-x-x-x-x

_It was night, and they were running. Lungs aching, feet stumbling through the field, they made their way toward a set of tracks, a train whistle sounding nearby. The ground shook and rumbled up through their legs as they put on speed, trying to intercept one of the dangling ladders. Michael surged forward and jumped, catching hold and hauling himself up. Lincoln ran faster and faster, trying desperately to reach Michael’s outstretched hand, as the train seemed to edge farther and farther away and Michael called to him anxiously, “Lincoln! Lincoln!”—_

His own groan of despair woke Lincoln up. The Row was dimly lit and quiet in the early hours of the morning. Lincoln put his head down and ran his hands up over the back of his neck, trying to shake off the feelings of doom and loneliness brought on by the dream. 

It was harder and harder to sleep, as his execution date drew closer, and what sleep he got was besieged by nightmares. Horrors past, present and future, things that had never happened, things that still might—all of these made appearances night after night. Reliving the trial where he was convicted of murder and sentenced to Death Row. Dreams in which he had shot the Vice President’s brother after all. Michael walking away from visiting hours one day and never coming back, leaving him to rot in isolation. Michael being raped and murdered while he was in prison trying to save Lincoln’s sorry ass. The Chair... His last panicked moments before they threw the switch. The anguish in Michael’s face as he watched Lincoln being led away. L.J.’s tears and bitter disappointment in the father he never was.

_God,_ he thought. The nightmares and the waiting were killing him. He needed it to be over, one way or another. He wanted to believe in Michael’s plan, had to convince him that he did just because he owed Michael that much. But the thoughts of what was coming if that failed were very real. His worries and mistakes and fears for how LJ and Michael would be affected by his leaving them— they were on his mind almost every waking moment, and it sickened him. Their weight threatened to crush him.

The only relief he got anymore was seeing Michael. The way his face lit up when Lincoln came into view was itself a reason to want to try a little longer. And the unexpected turn in their relationship was more reason still—he should have been stronger, should have resisted it, but he needed it so badly. The love, the warmth, the bond they felt through each other—it was keeping his soul alive in the face of death. This was the first real happiness he had felt in more years than he could remember. And if he had said no… he knew his rejection would have devastated Michael. After all Michael had done for him, all the years he had waited to be loved in return. Lincoln just couldn’t do it. He could worry about the moral implications later, but right now he could no more refuse what was offered than drive a knife through Michael’s heart.

Yesterday afternoon had been incredible. The taste and sensation of Michael, the lack of inhibitions and the outpouring of passion had been more intense than anything he had ever remembered. He had no doubts now about how deeply Michael loved him—it had all been there, in his face, his touch, the tears in his eyes. It had shaken Lincoln to his soul to realize that Michael had meant everything he said, that first day in the work shed. And to feel, within himself, the letting go of who he had once been for Michael in exchange for who he now wanted to be. It was more than making Michael happy. It was the undeniable need to hold him, love him, become one with him that had taken hold. Now that he felt the beginnings of it himself, he wondered how Michael had survived it, this intense longing for completion. All those years of waiting and wanting, with Lincoln so unaware, so detached, so unattainable and simply gone—it must have been horrible. 

Today, there would be morning chapel, where he hoped to see Michael before the service. He had hated being rushed out of the shed yesterday, without even time for a goodbye. Maybe today he would have a few unwatched moments to enfold Michael in his arms and breathe in the sensation of him, form apologies with kisses. 

He stroked his fingertip lightly across his mouth, imagining the brush of Michael’s lips against his, the sweetness of the way Michael kissed him. It just didn’t feel the same, and it never would. But here in the darkness, with the nightmare sweat now finally cooling, it was a reminder of something to look forward to.  


  


_\----- fin -----_


	6. Doubts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing is certain.

x-x-x-x-x

Michael could feel the eyes on him as he looked out across the yard. He turned, and found himself once again the subject of Haywire’s frightening fascination. The man’s interest in his tattoos was just weird. And creepy. It made him feel like he was being stalked.

If Haywire had been truthful when he said that he never slept, Michael was in big trouble.

~*~

“I thought you said there was no leeway in your planning!” Lincoln said later. Michael had broken the news about Haywire to him, and that he was three days behind in the digging now.

Lincoln looked as unnerved as Michael felt, which just made matters worse. Michael knew Lincoln was counting on him, and that he was helpless to do more than wait until Michael either succeeded or failed at bringing off this escape. 

“I’ll take care of it,” Michael reassured him. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Take _care_ of it? Michael…” Lincoln began, “Are you going to be able to live with the choices you have to make to solve this problem? Are you sure you want to do this?”

Michael smiled wryly. “It’ll be all right,” he said, but Lincoln really couldn’t be sure. Every day he felt he was watching more of Michael’s innocence get stripped away, until eventually his little brother would see every ugliness the world could hold, right here in Fox River.

“Really, it’ll be okay,” Michael said. They stared at each other for a moment, out in the scrutiny of the work yard. Michael patted Lincoln’s arm in passing, as they moved away from each other and blended back into their surroundings.

~*~

The next morning, they met up across the fence separating the two Yards.

“What the hell happened to your face!?” Lincoln asked. He could see it from his confined exercise area, even with Michael several feet away.

“I took care of Haywire,” Michael said. 

“What, he attacked you?” Lincoln asked.

A devious smile tugged at Michael’s lips. “That’s what the guards think, which is all that matters.” His smile grew. “Plus, he was raving on and on about the tattoo when they dragged him away. They must have thought he was having a major episode. I don’t think I’ll be seeing him again.”

_Fucking incredible,_ Lincoln thought. No wonder Michael hadn’t been bothered with any moral dilemnas on this—he’d never planned to harm Haywire at all. Only Michael would think up something like _this,_ like beating yourself up to implicate someone else.

“Come here for a second,” Lincoln said.

Michael glanced over toward the guards, and stepped clear up to the fence. 

“Not too bad,” Lincoln said, running his fingers gently around the wound. “But don’t make a habit of it. Don’t want to damage that pretty face.”

Somehow, the words sounded different when it was Lincoln saying them, and Michael found that he didn’t mind being called pretty when T-Bag wasn’t the one doing the talking. He smiled softly, and Lincoln pulled him far enough forward to give him a light kiss, barely able to reach through the fence. 

“Will I see you this afternoon?” Michael asked.

“I think so. Try not to get into any more trouble before then.” 

Michael just looked at him. “Lincoln! It’s not like I’m out looking for trouble.”

“Yeah, but you seem to find it a lot in here, don’t you?” Lincoln said. “Be good,” he instructed, and Michael meandered off toward the main GenPop recreation area.

~*~

In the work shed later, they met briefly for a few minutes. There was just enough time for some soft touching and caressing, just enjoying being together.

“God, I love kissing you,” Lincoln murmured. Michael smiled against his mouth, but stopped as Lincoln pulled back. “I cannot believe I just said that.”

“Why?” Michael asked.

Lincoln looked away. “Well, you are my brother, in case you hadn’t noticed. It just… sounds weird when I say it out loud,” he hedged. “I mean, how in the hell did we get from being kids chasing each other around the yard with sticks to being… here?”

“I’ve always been _‘here’,_ ” Michael said quietly. “I’m just not alone anymore.”

Lincoln just stroked Michael’s face, not saying anything. A vague sense of unease crept over Michael.

“Am I?” Michael asked. He stiffened slightly. “I know why I’m doing this. But why are you doing this, Linc? Is it… it’s not out of pity, is it?” Michael suddenly felt sick. He should have thought of that before. When had Lincoln ever denied him anything he truly wanted? What if that’s all this was now?

“No, no, no,” Lincoln said. The pain and fear on Michael’s face tore into him. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. I… I have trouble sometimes, when I think about this outside of us. Because, you know… how it looks.” 

He pulled Michael against him then, cradling his head and thinking. “But I haven’t been this happy in a long time,” he murmured into Michael’s ear, “especially considering how my life’s been going lately.” _What an understatement that was,_ he thought. He gave Michael a slow, gentle kiss. “I’m sorry. I do love you— always have, obviously. I just never thought I’d be loving you in quite this way.”

The worry was plain in Michael’s eyes as he stared back at Lincoln. “Is it okay?” he finally asked.

Lincoln smiled. “Yes, it’s okay.” And for the moment, it was. He resumed his kisses, pushing those doubts into the back of his mind. It was the oldest of taboos, but it was not worth hurting Michael over right now. They were not part of the real world, here in Fox River, and a lot of what mattered on the outside got suspended inside the pen anyway. Here in prison, with his own deadline hanging over his head every day, this was the gift he had to offer. 

“Time’s about up,” Michael whispered regretfully.

“Yeah,” Lincoln said. They could never spend very long, or the guards would get on them about it. He held Michael close for a moment, then picked up a load of pipes and headed outside.

Michael gathered the rake and edger, ready to follow. He felt better and worse at the same time. His brain was already turning, trying to find the hidden messages if there were any to find. Ultimately, he was back to where he’d been before. He was sure that Lincoln loved him… but not at all certain that Lincoln was in love with him. The difference between those two things held all of his emotional security in the balance.

_\----- fin -----_


	7. Disaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected kink in Michael’s plan.

x-x-x-x-x

Michael was in a panic.

It wouldn’t be obvious except to someone that really knew him, but he was. His hands were sweating, his stomach was knotted, and his thoughts were flying off in all different directions.

Who had originated the transfer order to another prison? Why would anyone even care who or where he was, unless they had found out that he and Lincoln were brothers? Even so, why would they want to move him anyway?

He’d already talked to Westmoreland, and he’d submitted his injunction papers to the warden. Westmoreland was confident, but Michael was not reassured. Everything hinged upon him being in Fox River—at this point, even on him being in his current cell. 

If he was transferred, he had no real hope of saving Lincoln. He’d be trapped wherever they sent him, not even able to see Lincoln in his final days… and knowing that he’d failed, and that he was leaving Lincoln to meet his fate alone.

If that happened, there wasn’t much point in waiting for his own sentence to be completed. He would never survive being in prison if Lincoln was killed, and honestly, he didn’t care that he would not even try.

This was the news he would have to break to Lincoln today. That last part he would keep to himself.

~*~

It turned that Lincoln had already heard about it.

He listened to Michael’s explanations about it, but his thoughts were churning. _I should have known this was too good to be true._ The hopes Lincoln had had to coax up out of his resignation were being crushed by this completely unexpected turn of events. God, this was torture. It would have been better if he’d never had any glimpse of a possible way out—better than preparing for death, then hoping to avoid it, and now having it all undone and his execution closer than ever. He was no longer ready to die, not since Michael had come to Fox River bringing his escape plans with him. And he found that it mattered to him again, whether he lived.

He couldn’t help letting some of this anger and frustration spill out, even though he could see what it was doing to Michael to hear it— and how quickly Michael tried to suppress the stricken look on his face, and restore calm.

“Have a little faith,” Michael said, putting his hand on Lincoln’s shoulder.

But Lincoln couldn’t even look at him. Part of him was dying inside already.

~*~

Michael’s injunction papers had been lost. Or destroyed. It didn’t matter—he would be shipped out in the morning, barring a major miracle.

His agitation was enough to bounce him off the walls, and he decided to continue his reconnaissance mission anyway. At least it would be a distraction.

Count was starting, but he was hurrying as fast as he could. Twisting, making turns in the access tunnels, he finally reached the grate over Warden Pope’s office. He eased himself out as quickly and quietly as he could, barely getting his hand up under the Taj Mahal model when the door opened.

He had just made it. Whatever happened tomorrow, this part of his plan worked. It brought little satisfaction to know that now.

~*~

Michael would be missing breakfast because of the transfer, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t have eaten anyway.

He was shackled up and guided out of A-Wing, toward the waiting car outside the prison gates. His head was buzzing, and he could not feel his feet anymore as they carried him further and further away from all that mattered.

He dimly noticed Lincoln, over in his recreation yard, bound in chains and staked to the ground like a monster or a rabid dog. He could never stand seeing Lincoln chained up like that, and with the weight of his own sorrow and guilt pulling him under he could barely bring himself to look at him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, unable to really get the words out past the lump in his throat. He owed Lincoln so much more than that. The pain of it was choking him.

Pope was waiting, at the gate. His news of reprieve barely registered for a moment, over the noise and despair whirling in Michael’s head. Was it a joke? Was he really going to remain at Fox River? 

The guards escorted him in a daze back through the Yard, but when he looked over to the side, Lincoln was gone.

~*~

He found him later, in the chapel. Lincoln was sitting numbly, defeat written all over his posture. He hadn’t heard…

Michael put his hand on Lincoln’s shoulder again. As Lincoln realized who it was, and what that meant, his head came up and he gazed at the stained-glass windows, in gratitude or disbelief. After a moment, his leaned his head back lightly against Michael’s chest, as Michael’s other hand embraced his shoulder. It was all they could do, with an audience, but the relief radiating from each other filled them both. 

It was not over. Not yet.

_\----- fin -----_


	8. The Riot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael unleashes a monster.

x-x-x-x-x

_It was the locker room, and they were cleaning up after work duty. Lincoln piled his clothes in the laundry, and picked up a towel for the shower. Through the doorway, he could see into the steam-filled room where Michael was already washing himself off. The water poured down his body, and he lifted his face up to the stream as if awaiting benediction. The overhead light caught his skin, flowed across his dark eyelashes and down the planes of his face. It highlighted the mountains and arches and mysterious images in the tattoo. Michael turned, and Lincoln watched the water spill onward, cascading down Michael’s smooth back and over the muscles below. He felt a thread of longing pulling him into that room, over toward Michael-- and then he was holding him, kissing and stroking him everywhere as the water beat down on them and soaked Lincoln’s forgotten towel. He kissed Michael longer and deeper, tongues pulsing together and hips joining as he drew Michael ever closer. Michael moaned into the kiss, soon gasping unevenly, and Lincoln brought his hand down to grasp—_

Clang!

“Fuck!” Lincoln said, as he woke to the sound of his metal door slot banging open for the breakfast tray. God, of all the timing. That couldn’t have waited just a few more minutes? 

“I can take it back,” Patterson said.

“No, no. It’s okay. You just surprised me, that’s all.” Lincoln rubbed his hand over his face, as his groin throbbed under the blankets. It was daylight. He didn’t know how he’d slept quite so late, but any chance of privacy was long gone. He fell back on the cot and groaned. Nice. A great start to yet another fun day. So what else was new?

~*~

Michael was in his cell, itching to get back to work.

What the—? Time for count _again?_

“There’s only a few certain things in life—death, taxes and count,” Sucre intoned.

This was seriously slowing down Michael’s digging, having to be back in his cell at such frequent and random intervals. And he’d already lost plenty of time at night, with the whole Haywire incident. 

What he needed was a major distraction—something to keep the guards occupied with something besides inventorying the prisoners all day. 

An idea formed. It was risky-- A-Wing could reach boilerplate chaos when the temperature drove the prisoners to riot. He’d already seen how unpredictable the outbursts of violence could be, and he was about to issue the invitation himself. 

But he just didn’t see a better choice.

~*~

In the stairwell, Lincoln came to in a rush, ready to fight off his new attackers. But it was only Westmoreland. T-Bag and his cohorts were gone, along with the C.O.

Nine against one—he knew he hadn’t had much of a shot, but he’d had to try.

He realized suddenly that the prison was still erupting, and he dashed off to find Michael before someone else could get to him first.

~*~

The demon’s image was set up to project against the wall, but Michael and Sucre had heard a noise from the loose sink in the cell. They slipped back out of the access corridor into the suddenly crowded room. T-Bag was there, with one of the guards, and Abruzzi as well. _Fuck._ They had all seen the space behind the sink—including T-Bag and the C.O. Michael could feel his plan fizzling right before him.

What to do now, and how much time did he have? They had barely begun drilling, and it would take some concentrated effort using the only crude tools available.

He went to check on the state of things on the floor, and caught sight of one of the internal monitors.

Prisoners in the infirmary were in revolt, and had trapped the doctor. They didn’t have her yet, but it wouldn’t take them long.

This was definitely not part of his plan. And he could see her death written on his conscience if he didn’t do something about it. Lincoln would be safe on the Row, secluded from the riot, and it didn’t look like the guards would be getting A-Wing under control anytime soon.

He moved back into the access hole and headed for the infirmary.

~*~

Lincoln was up and moving again, ragged now with pain and exhaustion. Turk lay dead in the basement, his instigator still unnamed. Regardless, someone was trying to kill Lincoln. He had to make sure Michael was safe as well.

He forced his way through the crush of angry prisoners, reaching Michael’s cell only to find everyone but Michael in it. He got nothing from Sucre, and pushed back down the stairs, calling for Michael.

Suddenly, he spotted him. Michael threw himself into Lincoln’s arms, a few unstoppable sobs escaping, and they squeezed each other fiercely. Michael looked into Lincoln’s eyes, the relief and stress pouring out of him, and held his face for just a second. Lincoln desperately wanted to kiss him, to ease his fear and pain, but now was not the time. 

They moved upstairs, out of the rampage, heading back to the relative quiet of Michael’s cell.

There were still too many people in there, and T-Bag was continuing to eye the C.O. in a very bad way. A heated argument broke out about how to keep the C.O. quiet, with threats and promises exchanged from both sides.

When it finally looked like T-Bag had backed down, Lincoln sent the C.O. on his way with instructions to never talk about it. He followed him out the door, heading the other direction back toward the Row.

But T-Bag was not to be deterred. Whether it was to keep the escape plan secret, or just having the sudden opportunity to kill his would-be victim, he wasted no time in stabbing the C.O. and pushing him over the railing. Michael watched in horror, as the first death resulting from his escape efforts cast its shadow on his soul.

He backed up in a daze, recovering just long enough jump out into the hall and call after his brother. “Lincoln!” he shouted in desperation. “Lincoln!”

_\----- fin -----_


	9. After The Riot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solace.

x-x-x-x-x

The C.O. was dead.

That thought hung in the air as Michael balled himself up in Lincoln’s lap and cried. He had caused it, by starting the riot, and he could never undo it.

Lincoln rubbed his back softly, and let him cry. He felt this burden too, but now was not the time to add to Michael’s grief. 

When the tears slowed down and the trembling stopped, he lifted Michael’s face up to look at him. Wiping the tears off with his hand, he kissed his forehead and eyelids, and cradled Michael’s head against his own. 

After a few minutes, Michael raised his head and gazed at Lincoln quietly. His eyes wandered down Lincoln’s face, and he finally took a really good look at him. “What—what the hell happened to your neck?” he gasped.

“Someone was waiting for me,” Lincoln said, “After I woke up from that fight with T-Bag’s bunch.” 

“Who? Why?” Michael asked. 

“Who was Turk—at least, he was the inside man on it. I never did find out who was behind it. And I have no idea why.” Lincoln took a deep breath. “You know, let’s not worry about this now. It’s been a long day, and I just don’t have it in me to launch an investigation right now.”

Michael’s eyes looked haunted, but he just nodded. He could find something out later, he was pretty sure, by working his system. But no need to drag Lincoln down into it right this second. 

Lincoln pulled Michael back against his chest. “You know,” he murmured into his ear, “We have some time here before the guards get things under control and someone comes looking for me. Why waste it?”

Michael looked at him, intrigued and incredulous all at once. “Sucre is right up on that top bunk,” he hissed back.

“Ask me if I care,” Lincoln said, and he leaned into Michael’s mouth. He kissed him softly again and again, gently caressing Michael’s lips with his tongue. His arms came around Michael more tightly now, as he slowly sank down sideways on the bunk, taking Michael with him. 

Michael gave up his protests instantly. God, it felt so good to lie here against Lincoln and just enjoy this without rushing. The tantalizing feeling of his mouth, the stroking of his tongue against Michael’s and his hands over Michael’s ass… Michael groaned into Lincoln’s mouth, turning his head sideways to deepen the kiss. The hands pressed him tighter into Lincoln’s hip, and Michael gasped as his hardness ground against Lincoln a little. Fuck Sucre. This was too good to pass up. His hands roamed over Lincoln’s muscled shoulders as he drank in the sensations of kissing and rubbing and touching.

“Well, well, well,” came Bellick’s voice through the doorway. Michael jerked back in shock. “What do we have here? Burrows, what are you doing in A-wing?”

“There was a problem, when the riot broke out. Figured I’d be okay here for the time being,” Lincoln said.

“Oh, I’d say you look more than just okay right now. Scofield, what do you have to say for yourself?” Bellick asked.

Michael just looked down, not meeting Bellick’s eyes. 

“Well, you’d better come along now Burrows. We’ve got to get you back in your cell.”

“Actually… would you mind coming back a little later?” Lincoln asked. 

Bellick’s eyes nearly popped, and Lincoln backtracked rapidly. “I mean, could I just stay awhile longer until you get everything settled down and all the A-wing prisoners back in their cells?”

Bellick gave a little half smile. “Burrows, are you seriously asking me to let you stay here and have some quality time with your Boy Toy for awhile?” he asked.

Lincoln laughed a little. “Well, yeah… I guess I am. How about it?” He looked at Bellick.

“All right,” Bellick said, shaking his head. “Don’t say I never did anything for you. We’ll be back around in a bit. You boys have fun.”

“Thanks,” Lincoln said. Michael turned to stare at him as Bellick continued on down the cell block. 

“I can’t believe you actually did that!” he said. 

“Well,” said Lincoln, “Sometimes it pays to just ask for what you want.”

“Speaking of what’s unbelievable,” Sucre called out from the top bunk, “Do you guys seriously think I want you going at it while I’m stuck up here in the same cell?”

“Uh,” Michael began. He stood up and looked over the edge of Sucre’s bed. “About that. I wouldn’t normally ask something like this, but… do you have some music headphones you could put on for awhile?”

“You’re shitting me,” Sucre said.

Michael shifted uncomfortably. _God, was this ever awkward._ “No, I’m really not. Could you do this as a favor, just this once?”

Sucre let out a deep breath, and rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. “All right,” he said finally. He pulled out his headphones, and turned the volume on high. “You want some lube too?” he joked. 

“Well… yeah, that’d be great,” Michael stammered. 

“I was kidding, man!” Sucre shook his head, and tossed him his Vaseline supply anyway. He put the headphones on, and waved Michael away.

Michael eased back onto the lower bunk, where Lincoln was staring at him with his mouth open. “What?” Michael said. “I just asked for what I wanted.”

_What do you know,_ Lincoln thought. Michael had actually listened to him for a change. Lincoln smiled in disbelief. He took a moment to remove his bloodied shirt, then reached out and pulled Michael back onto the bed, running his fingers down the back of Michael’s head and just reveling in the feel of him. 

Michael leaned down to kiss him again, working back to where they’d left off. He sucked and nibbled at Lincoln’s lips, sinking into him once again and kissing him deeper and deeper as his breathing quickened.

Lincoln grasped his arms, and gently rolled them over so that Michael was now on the bottom. He straddled Michael’s lap, running his hands over Michael’s face as he kissed him, and he smiled as he felt Michael’s arms come up around his neck. Pulling back, he lifted Michael’s shirt up from the bottom, and kissed his way along that taut stomach. He drew his tongue up the tattoo along the demon’s flank, and stopped to lick and nip at the nipple above it while his hands wandered over Michael’s body. He could feel the trembling under his fingers, and moved up to Michael’s neck, licking and sucking the most sensitive areas. 

“Lincoln!” Michael gasped, and he tried to thrust up against him. Lincoln devoured Michael’s right earlobe. “God, Lincoln, would you just fuck me already?” Michael asked, squirming underneath him.

“Are you sure you’re ready for that?” Lincoln whispered. “Do you know what you’re getting into?”

“No, but I don’t care. I want it. With you,” Michael panted. “Now.”

Lincoln’s pants got impossibly tight at the sound in Michael’s voice, and he kissed Michael again and began struggling with his clothes. He got Michael’s pants off in record time, and shed his own even faster, settling down against Michael’s groin, skin to skin. Michael nearly jumped up off the bed at the sudden sensation of Lincoln naked against him. His legs spread to come around him, and his arms pulled Lincoln closer. Lincoln opened the lube, and began preparing Michael gently. “Last chance to bail out,” he said, but Michael only groaned and twisted underneath him. “What the hell is taking so long?” he gritted out, and it was so unlike Michael that Lincoln just laughed quietly.

He proceeded carefully, and then they were locked together, moving in rhythm with each other. Michael’s kisses were so passionate, so real. The look on his face, as he gazed at Lincoln with such openness and trust, made Lincoln’s heart clench. He moved to grasp Michael between them, and Michael’s sudden whimpering pushed him over the edge. He groaned, coming deep inside him, and Michael’s head lifted back in his own shuddering release. He pulled Lincoln down for another searing kiss, and then just held him, happiness flowing out of him and surrounding them both.

This was luxury. Lying here against Michael, half-dazed and spent with pleasure. Lincoln’s hand rubbed over Michael’s shoulder gently. 

Up in the top bunk, Sucre was rock hard and really pissed off at himself for giving that lube away, not that he’d expected to need it. He never thought listening to other men having sex would turn him on, but it didn’t really seem to matter who was doing the moaning when it sounded like _that._ The headphones could only cover up so much. _Damn,_ he thought. There wasn’t much he could do about it, with both of them awake down there, so he rolled over on his stomach and thought about sewers and deserts and waiting in line at the bank.

Michael nuzzled his head against Lincoln, an unbreakable smile on his face, and just enjoyed the moment. They would put their clothes on soon enough, and wait for the guards to come pick up Lincoln. But for now…this was enough.

 

_\-------- fin --------_


End file.
